Amy Lu's View

“Make sense of this.” 

I received this directive at the Walker when I recently visited it on my birthday. 

Yes! That’s what I wanted to do. That’s what I was trying to do: Make sense of my birthday. 

Okay, this command wasn’t given specifically or exclusively to me, and it wasn’t actually about my birthday, but about the Walker collection.

But here I was, on my birthday, with the Walker telling me to “Make sense of this,” and it seemed like a directive, or an invitation, I should accept. Afterall, I had been thinking obsessively, and disjointedly, about my birthday–especially how to blog about my birthday–for days.

Of course, I was under no mandate to blog about my birthday, but since it was looming so large in my head, I felt obligated to do so. 

Why was I thinking about my birthday so much? Because I love my birthday–even though loving my birthday as an adult, especially a middle-aged adult woman, isn’t a popular response, and doesn’t seem to make much sense. How could I possibly love this day that just means I am yet another year older, with more wrinkles, less cultural relevance, and fewer days of my life ahead of me than behind me?

But ugh, I didn’t, I don’t, want to wallow in tired and cliched “aging sucks” thinking (or blogging). Yes, some things about aging definitely are not awesome, and I’m sure I’ll find that even more true as I get older–I know I’m extremely lucky to have made it to 53 without any serious health issues, or even annoyances.  

Aging IS scary–I don’t want to downplay that. I’m not a fan of mortality, of my own or my loved ones, and I’m not big on changes I can’t control. I’m not big on loss, and the process of aging is filled with losses big and small.

So there are a plethora of difficult and even sad things about getting older, but of course some positive aspects, too. I’ve learned so much from my 53 years–lessons big and small, everything from the value of presence to the very recent discovery that boiled peanuts are really messy to eat and not worth the effort. 

This year, the most relevant thing I’ve learned–at least as far as my birthday goes–is that it’s okay to love my birthday. It’s okay to set aside some time (not limited to just one day) to ponder and be grateful for all the wonderful people who are or have been part of my life. I can take time  to appreciate that I’ve made it this far (both in terms of years and experiences), and to celebrate with indulgences and frivolity (likely small and spread out over a whole month so I don’t exhaust myself). It’s worthwhile to reflect on what’s been and what is and to have hopes and dreams and anticipation for the future. 

Maybe I won’t love my birthday as I get older, or I’ll love it in different ways, but now I can just enjoy it as I want to (including obsessing over where to go and what to do to celebrate and what to wear while I do it). 

I don’t know if I’ve made sense of my birthday, or my fondness for it, but I do find meaning in it. I may not be fulfilling the charge the Walker gave me, but I’m okay with that. (I also wasn’t able to make “sense” out of most of the art I saw at the Walker but it was an enjoyable visit!)